Here's part 5 of The Ram.

The Welsh Mountain Ram 5.

Briony Betrayed wife and mother.
Sion Her eight-year-old son.
Ellairy Her nine-month-old daughter.
Arfon Brionys’ unfaithful husband.
Dave. Welsh bachelor hill-farmer.
Jenny and Lassie Daves’ sheepdog bitches.
Laddie. Daves’ sheepdog.
Jessica and Pansy Daves’ sows.
Angel Daves’ mare.
Daphne Daves’ ‘girlfriend’
Cledwyn. Farmer further down the valley (Neighbour.)
Blodwen Cledwyn’s daughter.

Briony padded softly down stairs and carefully opened the passage door into the kitchen. The kitchen and utility rooms were empty and she noted that Daves’ coat and boots were missing. Then she noticed the sensor lights around the barn were on. Dave had obviously gone into the barn. She debated putting on the other wellies he had lent her and going across to check. The man seemed to be back and forth into the barn every couple of hours.

‘Surely animals didn’t need that much care!’ She told herself. ‘What could be occupying his time? Or was he avoiding her?’ She wondered.

She knew she had wounded him simply by inference when they were putting the children to bed and a pang of guilt still nagged at her conscience. After all, she was the interloper on whatever life he had.

For want of anything better to do, she finished clearing up after the supper then started preparing vegetables for tomorrows’ dinner ... Christmas dinner. There was still plenty of meat left on the joint but she would have preferred something traditional, like a turkey. She wondered if Dave had prepared for Christmas dinner already but she hadn’t seen a bird anywhere. Having decided that the joint would have to do, she concentrated on the vegetables.

It was over an hour before she heard the back door from the yard click and Dave’s boots stomping off the snow before he appeared in the kitchen.

“Where’ve you been?” She asked somewhat hesitantly.

“In the barn, checking the animals, seeing that Angel is comfortable and plucking a goose.”

“Plucking a Goose!” She gasped. “What you mean ...”

“I thought you’d want some sort of bird for the dinner tomorrow. So I killed one of the gees just now and I’ve been plucking it and dressing it in the barn. I couldn’t let Sion see me do it. I don’t think he’s ready for the brutal side of Christmas dinner yet. I didn’t want to shock him, so I was going to wait until he went to bed. Fortunately he went to sleep early ... all that fresh air.”

“What! You just went out and killed one of your own geese!?”

The ghost of a smile that had crept onto Dave’s face faded as he sensed Briony was shocked. He stammered an apology; it seemed nothing he could do was right.”

“I — I’m sorry. It’s either that or slices off the joint we had tonight. Cold cuts aren’t very appealing for a Christmas dinner. I was happy for myself but for the boy, well, if Santa isn’t going to call then I thought perhaps a nice traditional dinner might at least make something of Christmas day. Sorry, I’ll take it back.”

“Take what back?”

“The goose, it’s here in the utility room.”

“Oh my God!” She put the veg peeler down and stood cautiously to look.

“Is it, you know, oven ready?”

“Of course. Some say you have to hang a bird for a day or two but it’s not true. If the thing is dressed properly I think it tastes better fresh from the flock.”

Briony poked her head around the door and was somewhat relieved to see a perfectly dressed bird on a big steel tray. She stepped forward nervously and poked it then sniffed it.

“It looks okay.” She observed, unsure of what other comment to make. She had never cooked a whole bird before, she and her husband had usually gone around to his or her parents.

“I’ll put it in early in the morning. It’ll be safe overnight in the larder where the dogs or the cats can’t get at it.”

So saying he placed it on the cool stone slab, closed the door and turned to face her.

“We’d best finish the veg.”

Briony sensed he was trying to divert attention away from the issue that was the elephant in the room, his cross-dressing. She felt it had to be tackled and she wanted explanations. She had met several transvestites at college but usually at night clubs where they were dressed and usually having a good time. Like her friends, she had met them in the ladies’ loos and chatted with them, but always they had made their own way home to their private lives. Apart from the clubbing scene, Briony had otherwise never encountered a known transvestite or more importantly, a transsexual!

‘I mean, what’s with his boobs?’ She wondered.

Dave seemed to sense her issues so he took a seat at the table corner so that they were close enough to chat without talking loudly. He picked up an ordinary kitchen knife and they were soon preparing vegetables. Briony realised he had chosen this arrangement to give her the least stressful opportunity to broach her concerns. She took a deep breath then finally took the plunge.

“Is it okay to talk about it?” She asked, ‘dipping her toe into the metaphorical water.’

“I think we’re going to have to. You didn’t seem very happy about things when the children went to bed.”

Briony was relieved that he’d broached the issue of the children. She felt if she brought it up, it might reinforce his reservations and fear of accusation. Now the issue was open she felt relieved and emboldened though she still wasn’t sure how to bring it up. Her hesitation told Dave she was still afraid of somehow causing offence or worse, precipitating him into some sort of anger or attack. With a long sigh, he broke the impasse.

“I’m not a paedophile or anything like that. Is that what you’re worried about?”

Even yet, Briony hesitated. She was still fearful of causing offence. Then eventually, she croaked in a tiny, nervous squeak.

“Yes. I’m sorry. Yes, I was.”

“There.” Dave replied. “That wasn’t too difficult was it? I’m not offended, believe me, I’ve been accused of worse. But now the issue is out, on the table, in the open. We’ll both find it easier to address the issues.”

A flicker of a relieved smile crossed Brionys’ face as she finished the last parsnip. Dave stood and carried the saucepans to the sink to rinse the finished veg before covering ready for boiling and roasting in the morning.

Then he disappeared briefly into the larder and returned with all sorts of flour, sugar, fruit and assorted spices.

“We’re not finished yet.” He declared. “There’s the pudding to do. I got the ingredients in town a couple of days ago before I went to market.”

Briony felt further relief. Working while they talked served to somehow keep the situation under control and in perspective. She watched as he expertly mixed the pudding and left it to settle as he commenced making pastry for the mince pies. As he worked, she watched and they chatted at length.

“Who taught you to cook?”

“My gran. She lived with Dad and I for a few years after mum died then she died of cancer. She knew she was dying so she tried to pass on all she knew. She cooked three; no it was four, Christmas dinners here at the hall and every time she took me deep into her confidences. She died just before my eleventh birthday so I learnt a lot and what I couldn’t remember, she wrote in a book. I’ve still got it in the sideboard drawer.”

Daves’ voice choked slightly and Briony suddenly reached for some tissues as she spotted the tear. Silently, she offered it to him and he turned thankfully to face the Aga again as he squeezed the tissue against his eyes. She so wanted to hug him tight but felt it might somehow imply she was mocking his emotional, feminine responses to his own painful issues. Instead she gently rested her hand on his shoulder as a man might do in comradeliness. She inadvertently felt the shoulder strap of his compression vest under his loose chequered shirt and realised he either bound his breasts or replied upon the vest. She was aware enough not to probe or test with her fingers but simply let her hand lie in friendship on his shoulder. Eventually he recovered his composure and returned without a word to the pastry-making.

Once again, he opened up the conversation as he recognised she was still unsure of where to go with the issues. Firstly he reiterated the earlier assurance.

“You’re children are safe, I’m just trying to give them a decent Christmas day, even if Santa doesn’t arrive.”

Briony sighed as she anticipated Sions’ tears in the morning.

“I’m afraid Santa is definitely not coming in the morning.”

Dave said nothing and just nodded acceptance. At that stage there was little he could do to avert the inevitable tears.

‘Tomorrow might well be the day Sion stopped believing in Santa Clause,’ He thought, ‘but it was bloody brutal way to learn. He could remember the time and circumstance when he finally learned the truth about Santa, but it had not been accompanied by tears.’

He remembered vaguely that his father had had a difficult time with some livestock and the bad weather. The ensuing chaos that particular year had prevented his dad from getting to the shops before Christmas. It was the year before his grandmother had decided to come and help with the rearing of him after she learned of the Christmas morning disaster when no presents appeared at the bottom of Dave’s bed.

It was difficult for a man to run a farm, run a large house and bring up a small child without some sort of help with the mothering and she had finally persuaded him to accept her help. The following years were the best Dave could remember after his mother had died. Then his gran had died and finally, when he was nineteen, his dad had died of a stroke. Dave thought back and remembered that he had loved all his relatives ... mam, dad and gran.

Since then until now, Dave had lived alone as he came to terms with running the farm, (more like an estate,) maintaining the hall and dealing with his transgenderism. Briony had been the first person ever to stay overnight since his father had gone. ‘Over ten years’, he mused. It was odd to have other people and to have to think twice about his transgenderism.

Finally, the pastries were finished and he put a tray of mince pies in the oven. Then he settled in one of the Windsor chairs as Briony made them another cup of tea. She settled into the opposite chair and savoured the delicious heat radiating from the Aga. Finally, she plucked up the courage to broach the subject on her own terms.

“D’you mind if I ask about you err-rrm transvestism?”

Dave shrugged. ‘It was out in the open now so there was nothing left to hide. Besides, he had already gone to meetings he had discovered on the internet and met others like him, - well who cross-dressed like him.’ Furthermore, he was now into clubbing at gay clubs! 'What more damage can ensue?’ He wondered.

“I don’t suppose I do. I’ll be coming out shortly, anyway. Who can it harm anyway? What with me living away up here as I do.”

“How long have you been doing it?”

“Since before mummy died, ‘bout four I suppose.’

“Did your parents know?”

“No. They never found out either; or at least, if they did, they never mentioned it to me or pulled me about it. Look around you it’s a big house. I had a million places to hide my activities and another million to hide my stash.”

“Your stash?”

“Yeah; my clothes, mostly stolen from my mum at first; then when she died, I stole a huge amount of her stuff before some relatives came and cleared it away. Dad was too distraught to notice anything missing from mummy’s’ wardrobe so I had a windfall before the aunts got stuck in. That’s mums’ sisters. Dad was a single child. What I did notice was that a lot of mums’ jewellery disappeared after the aunts had been. I was angry about that and I told dad. He told Gran and she forced her daughters to give it back. They were all shocked that I knew nearly every piece of Mums’ jewellery but they never cottoned on why. I’ve still got most of it, though I don’t wear it. It’s too valuable. Since I was about twenty-five I’ve bought plenty of cheap garish stuff to assuage my needs.”

“You don’t seem to be ashamed or secretive about it.”

“Why should I care? Who is there to object?” I used to do it all at home here in total privacy, playing lady of the manor. Then, when I was about twenty nine, I went online and well, you know the internet. I’m thirty now and beginning to spread my wings.”

“D’you care if others found out?”

“You found out. The more we talk about it, the more I realise I don’t care. Are you bothered by it?”

“The boobs seem a bit strange. What’s that all about?”

“I have realised there’s a bit of transgenderism in me. I want boobs. I’d like to pass as a woman. I started buying hormones on the internet and I started self medicating.”

“What happens if you ever met a woman and found out you wanted to start a relationship?”

Dave shrugged and spread his hands palms upwards.

“That’s not going to happen is it? I don’t go where I’m likely to find straight women. I go to gay clubs. They’re the safest places, and yes, I have been attacked and beaten up but not in gay clubs.”

“What?” Briony pressed, “You mean while out — you know — cross dressed?” You go to straight clubs cross-dressed?”

“At first, I went to ordinary clubs, but once I got going on the internet I soon narrowed it down to places deemed safe for the likes of us. Believe my Briony; we trans-girls are at far greater risk than genetic girls. Now I go to Birmingham and Manchester. It’s much safer in the gay villages. No knuckle-rash, or at least, a lot less knuckle rash and the police are much more sympathetic. I go about three weekends a month in the summer. Less in the winter because the livestock need more care.

Talking of livestock. I’d best check on Angel again.”

“What! Why? You checked on her only just a couple of hours ago.”

“Yeah well she was a bit delicate when I last checked. I won’t be long.”

Before she could react, he was out of the chair and dressing to go out. His absence gave Briony time to reflect.

‘Wonder what he looks like as a woman?’ She asked herself. ‘He’s quite slender and willowy and he’s only a size twelve or fourteen. There was some really nice stuff up there as well.’ She recalled. As she stood to make another cup of tea, she pondered the situation and wondered if he’d let her see him dressed. She heard him returning and quickly poured another mug of tea. He wrapped his fingers around the mug and grinned.

“You must be clairvoyant or something. That was perfectly timed.”

“Haven’t you got something stronger than tea?” Briony asked.

He looked a bit puzzled and squinted suspiciously.

“Why d’you ask.”

“Dunno. It’s Christmas Eve and a drop of sherry would go down a treat with those mince pies. They smell delicious.”
Dave stood to check the Aga as he confessed.

“Sorry. I don’t have any booze. Not a drop, anywhere in the house. I don’t drink.”

“What. Not at all.”

“No. Nothing. It isn’t safe for Trannies to drink. People think they can take advantage of a woman drinking alone. Same goes for trannies; besides, if you get drunk, you’re doubly vulnerable. Ipso facto, I don’t drink. I can’t most of the time anyway, I invariably drive everywhere alone. Mmm. These pies are just perfect. Here, try one; let it cool first.”

Briony took the proffered pie and studied it as it cooled. The smell was delicious.

“What d’you put in it?”

“I make my own fruit mix. Mostly, apples and pears from the orchard and then the usual glazed raising and sultanas and stuff. Yes, it’s one of Grans’ old recipes.”

As Briony carefully nibbled the pie she kept looking at Dave until he frowned.

“What?”

“What, what?” She replied.

“Why d’you keep looking at me. I’m not the mad axe-man of Plyn Limon or something. You’re perfectly safe.”

She smiled as she tried to relax him.

“Will you do me a favour?”

“I’m not playing Santa clause to Sion; besides I’ve no outfit and no presents.”

“No. Not that. Something else.”

“What.”

“What d’you look like as a girl?”

Dave studied her as he tried to assess her objectives.

“Why would you want to know?”

“I’m just curious.”

Dave felt a twitch of salacity tingle down his spine but immediately suppressed it. This encounter was going nowhere in his book. It didn’t pay to mix it with straight girls. Even in the short two or three years where he had be going ‘out’ he had discovered that one.

Anyway, he was a totally free agent, foot loose and fancy free. Something like this might complicate things.’ He searched through his mind for some sort of excuse then offered one.

“What if Sion wakes up and sees me?”

“If he wakes up, he’ll come looking for me, not you. He’ll be more concerned to see if Santa’s come.”

Dave bit his lip thoughtfully. He still had reservations.

“I don’t get it. Why? I mean; straight girls may like to have a laugh with us in the clubs, but it usually ends there. At the end of the night, when it comes down to it, they like straight men, men without kinks or flaws.”

Briony sniffed dismissively.

“I’ve got news for you David Cadwalloder, there’s no such thing as a man without any kinks. They all seem to be into one thing or another.”

It was Dave’s turn to snort derisively.

“Come off it girl. We’re talking transgenderism here. Half man, half woman. Be serious, I’m talking real issues. I don’t play at dressing; it’s me, all of me. When I’m dressed, I’m a woman in my head. I start to feel female and then the call comes and I go to my wardrobe. It’s like vampires crawl back into their coffins when the sun rises. It’s as basic and primordial as that. I’m half woman in my head; come to think of it, I might even be more than half woman. I don’t know, I haven’t had any associations with women since my gran died, I was eleven. I don’t even know what is womanly and what is not. I don’t have any datum marks, no scale of womanliness. All I know is that in here, in-between my ears there’s a woman or half a woman or some fraction of a woman, though how big or how small? I don’t know. The only thing I’ve got going for me on this road I’m travelling is that I feel no guilt. There’s never been anybody to condemn me, nobody censuring me. I’m free at least of that stuff. Problem is, I don’t know how much of me is woman, what feelings are womanly feelings and what feelings are manly.”

Briony was mildly perplexed. In all her sociological studies, the parameters had always seemed to start out with one, undisputed, absolute premise, that is; the individual was male or female. She stared thoughtfully into the Aga’s inspection glass.

‘This was totally new premise and a very uncertain one. To have the individual somewhere in-between and worse, to not even know where ‘in-between’, set all the sexuality based, psychological hypotheses onto very unstable ground. No certainty and no calibration meant no starting off point and therefore no conclusions.’ Briony was lost for what to say except for one issue that perplexed her.

“You say it doesn’t bother you.”

Dave shrugged again and pulled a wry expression.

“No. I knew other people disapproved because of how stuff went down at school but when I got home I was free. I heard the boys making remarks about queers and laughing at a football song about players wearing womens’ underwear. So naturally I didn’t reveal anything at school. Some of the boys called me a girly wimp for not liking rugby and football but I could ride a horse and they couldn’t. I heard them planning a ramble with the scouts one Friday for a weekend, summer hike to Plyn Limon Fawr. That’s a fair treck but I knew they would be crossing the moors where we had grazing rights.

I just asked dad if he wanted me to round up the high pasture flock for shearing and he was quite happy. It was something he had been planning for Monday but he was really pleased when I offered to do it on the Saturday. I was just turned thirteen but farm kids learn responsibilities early.

Come the day, I was out on the moors seemingly innocently busy with the flock. I cut quite a dash for I looked very responsible and ‘grown-up’ when they saw me astride a full sized horse while handling three dogs on the whistle. I had half the flock
gathered when my schoolmates seemingly just happened to come across me sending out two of the dogs to gather in another bunch.

The scoutmaster was one of our Geography teachers and he was quite amazed to learn that I was responsible for about two thousand of our sheep of our own and another two thousand of Cledwyns flock from the next farm. It was a huge flock and I was slowly working them down to the lower pastures. When I caught site of the hikers I deliberately sent the sheep a bit too far thus making it appear that I had to gallop across the moor to head them off. This brought me and two of the dogs right past my schoolmates at full gallop as I called in the dogs to re-direct the sheep. Then I pulled up and posed on top of my horse like a general directing his armies. Finally I called in the dogs and introduced myself to the hikers they were shocked to learn that David Cadwalloder worked on the moors on horseback all alone without adult supervision. I never mentioned my riding for I just wanted to keep my head down at school and avoid attracting attention.
That’s how I got through school and as soon as I was able, I left to help dad with the farm. Three years later, I was the owner and sole operator of the whole estate. Free as a bird and with nobody to answer to.
Thus I’ve been free to indulge my needs all my life, though I always knew; or rather thought; that other people would judge me if they knew. Luckily, I’ve got this, a huge empty house tucked away in the mountains. Lucky me.”

“So how did you find out about the problems others like you face?”

“That’s a facile question. When I bought my computers and went on line, I started meeting others like me. We talk; all hail the internet.”

Briony felt she was going around in circles. From Daves’ perspective, his needs were easily addressed.

“Did you ever go to college?”

“No. There was the farm, I had to help dad and I knew I was going to inherit one day. That day came earlier than expected. He was getting Ill when I turned seventeen.”

But didn’t you feel you’d missed something? I mean taking on such huge responsibilities so young.”

“I grew up with it; by the time push came to shove I was already capable of running the show. Dad said he was sorry for dumping so much stuff on my shoulders so early but I knew little else. Once Dad died, I didn’t have a chance to feel anything, except freedom to address my needs.”

“You seem remarkably sanguine about it.”

“Mr Price the accountant tells me the estate is turning over a handsome profit. I get invited to all the farmer functions though I don’t often go. Too many hopeful farmers daughters looking to trap me. They’re all country girls and I don’t know how they’d take to my trans stuff. How would I tell them and be sure they’d keep it a secret?”

“I thought you said you were coming out?”

“We-ell, yes, but in my own time and in my own places. No need to shit on my own doorstep.”

“Succinctly put,’ thought Briony as she added.

“So nobody else knows but me.”

“Well some of my new-found friends know.”

“Aren’t you afraid I might tell people?”

“Can’t do much about it can I? You felt my boobs and found my clothes. That’s how much can go wrong after one unexpected, unscheduled visit.”

“Would you be upset if I did?”

“Yes. It’s a betrayal of trust after I saved your life. Somehow though, I don’t think you would. You don’t strike me as a vindictive judgemental woman.”

Briony basked in the compliment and it further endeared him to her. 'The man was honest and straight; and so far he hadn’t put a foot wrong.' She decided to try and press her suit.

“Would you object to my seeing you dressed?”

“But why? What’s the point? It’s just something I do.”

“I’m just curious. Your slender and sort of willowy, I’m just curious.”

“You mean tall and skinny.”

“No!” Briony protested. “No you’re not skinny. I’d love to see you changing; that is getting dressed with the makeup and everything.”

“You won’t see me dressing. That’s a bit too salacious. I mean, you’d be with a naked tranny in her bedroom. Well not totally naked. I’ve always got nicks on.”

“What! Even now?”

He nodded and shrugged.

“I don’t have any boy pants even when I’m up to my eyes in sheep and shit.”

“Okay then, put your clothes on then let me see you making up your face.”

Dave felt a little fricassee of excitement tingle through his body. He had never put his makeup on in-front of anybody else before. He paused and Briony pleaded.

“Pleease.”

“Okay then, but no coming in until I say I’m ready; okay?”

Briony beamed and stepped over to kiss him by way of saying thank-you. She caught him a smacker on the forehead before he realised what she was about. Dave stare up at her open-mouthed, shook his head and executed a smart exit to the corner bedroom.

“I’ll call you when I’m ready.”

Briony was left to consider the vegetables so she made yet another cup of tea. She was beginning to feel like a teapot.